Fragments of us
by McJoJo
Summary: Oh my dear Alex. If only you knew, if only you had any idea how much I miss you. You're sitting right here beside me and still I miss you as if you were gone. And maybe you are gone, but I can't believe that, not yet. I have to believe that you're still in there somewhere. - Short story -


**The idea of this story has been haunting me forever. It all started hearing the song "She misses him" by Keith Urban. **

**I guess I have to warn beforehand that this story is a bit heavy and depressing. But Please tell me what you think of it.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Law and Order SVU, and bla bla bla, you know the deal.**

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Oh my dear Alex. If only you knew, if only you had any idea how much I miss you. You're sitting right here beside me and still I miss you as if you were gone. And maybe you are gone, but I can't believe that, not yet. I have to believe that you're still in there somewhere.

Sometimes I get a glimpse of the old you, the woman I fell in love with. For just a moment, sometimes even a little bit longer, I get to see you again and I immediately fall in love with you all over again. But right now, you're gone. I wonder where you are. Is it so much better there that you don't want to come back to me?

I wish you would let me hold you. I want to, so badly. I want to take you in my arms and never let go. I want to feel your soft warm skin, I want to comb my hands through your beautiful hair like I used to. You used to love that, remember? But most of all I want to look into your eyes and see recognition there, and love. I want to look into your eyes and see you again.

It started a couple of years ago, you were only 41. Nobody knew back then, nobody thought it possible. You were Assistant District Attorney Alexandra Cabot, relentless, healthy, compassionate, full of life. We were happily married and very much in love.

It was just the little things at first, you lost your keys, forgot the name of a rape victim. You were so embarrassed about that one.

Once you lost a case file right before you had to court, your notes were in there, the evidence was. You were freaking out, searching everywhere. It was so unlike you, you were always such a neat nick. I bet if I'd taken you to see a psychiatrist, you would have been diagnosed with OCD. But still, somehow the file was just gone. We looked all over the house, the minutes ticking by quickly. We looked in every possible place until there were only the impossible places left to search.

And there it was, in the freezer, neatly stacked on top of the frozen pizzas. Afterward we'd laughed about it, deciding that you were definitely overworking yourself and in need of a much deserved break.

We had built up a decent amount of vacation time, but our boss, Michael Cutter, didn't want both of us gone the same time. Who was supposed to handle SVU if we were not there? Even right now, I still have no idea what you'd told Cutter, but as relentless as ever you went over to him and didn't come back until both of us had two weeks off and the tickets to the Bahamas were already booked.

Things were better after that amazing vacation. You didn't have any migraines anymore, you looked more relaxed, happier and we concluded that it had just been the stress of work.

I didn't notice it at first, you were very good at hiding it, but after a little while things got worse again. You started carrying around a little notebook everywhere you went, making notes all the time so you wouldn't forget.

And then you forgot my birthday. I didn't want to be angry at you, but I admit that I was hurt. I didn't understand, how could you just forget? You always used to make such a big deal out of it ever since the beginning of our relationship. You'd always insisted on giving me breakfast in bed, warm croissants with jam, fresh orange juice. You'd bake me a cake, your grandmother's recipe, the most delicious cake I'd ever had. I didn't want to show you I was hurt about you forgetting, I knew you were going to beat yourself up for it. You had been really busy at work, so I didn't say anything. But then, later that day, you were standing in front of our refrigerator staring at the calendar attached to it, frozen in place and silent tears rolling down your cheeks.

"Sorry. Sorry. Sorry." You kept repeating and my disappointment broke down instantly. I couldn't be angry at you. Whatever was going on, it wasn't your fault.

I just want you to know that I don't blame you, I would never blame you for anything this fucked up disease did to you, it wasn't your fault, it never was.

I hugged you and told you it was okay, that it didn't matter. But it did matter to you and you insisted on still making me your grandma's cake. You told me to go to the living room and watch some TV or something while you went busy in the kitchen, I wasn't allowed to peak.

But about an hour later I heard something shatter on the ground followed by you cursing loudly. I rushed over to the kitchen door and asked if you were alright. When you didn't respond I went in.

There you stood, ingredients everywhere, there was flower all over your clothes and in your hair. The shards of a broken plate on the ground. My first thought was that you looked absolutely adorable standing there, clueless and covered in flower. But then I took a better look and saw something was wrong. You were pale, your hands were trembling, and again tears were silently rolling down your cheeks.

"I… I don't know… how to…" You mumbled. I didn't understand what you meant. You looked at me through your tears.

"What don't you know, honey?" I asked gently cupping your cheek with my hand, wiping the tears away with my thumb.

"I don't know how to do it."

You had made me that cake every single year, you had the recipe memorized ever since your grandma taught you when you were a little kid and still, suddenly, you couldn't do it. All the stuff was there, but you didn't know how to actually make the cake.

Eventually I convinced you it was okay and we made the cake together. I still had a nice birthday after all of that. You were in a better mood later that day and you took me out to a very cozy fancy restaurant. But you were tired quickly and went to bed early. You fell asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow, but I didn't. I was worried, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong with you, something was terribly horribly wrong.

After that weekend I tried to convince you to take some sick leave, take a break, maybe see a doctor, but you assured me you were fine. You got angry and told me I was way too overprotective, there was nothing to worry about and I should just stop crowding you. I was still worried, but I respected your wishes.

A couple of days later, when I was in my office, I received a phone call from Olivia. You were at the precinct with the detectives and Olivia told me something had happened. I dropped everything and rushed over immediately. I'm pretty sure that, on my bicycle, I broke speed limits that were set for cars, but I didn't care. I all I ever cared about is you, even if you don't remember now.

You were standing in the precinct, looking disheveled, blood trickling down your face and hair. Captain Cragen was trying to get you to sit down and press paper towel against the wound on your forehead, but you wouldn't let him. You were pacing down the squad room, agitated, the blood flowing freely.

"Alex!" I immediately rushed to you. You stopped pacing and looked at me, but it seemed more like you were looking through me. I took the paper towel from Cragen and gently pressed it against your head. You flinched, but didn't move.

"Honey, what happened?" I asked, trying to make some real eye contact.

"I… He…" you answered, confusion clear on your face.

I walked you to the nearest chair and sat you down, crouching down beside you. Olivia joined us, handing me a clean towel, the other one was already soaked with blood. Everyone was staring at you quietly, concern evident on their faces.

"What happened?" I asked again, but you didn't respond.

"We had a suspect in interrogation." Olivia offered, "All of a sudden Alex just barged in and started shouting at him, calling him by a different name and accusing him of raping and murdering a 5-year-old."

I gave Olivia a questioning look.

"He's a suspect for groping women on the subway." Olivia explained, "When Alex kept going on about how he raped a kindergartener he lost it and punched her. She knocked her head on the corner of the table."

I sighed, understanding now.

"Honey?" I turned back to you, "Is that what happened?"

I still didn't get an answer but tears rushed to your eyes and only a moment later you started to sob.

We had trouble getting you to go with the paramedics, but eventually you agreed when I said I would ride along, that I'd be with you every step of the way.

At the hospital the doctors were nice enough to let me go with you in the exam room. I was really thankful, you were so scared and confused, it broke my heart. The wound wasn't very deep, but you did need a couple of stitches. When the doctor asked you what happened you said you didn't remember.

After they stitched you up they took your blood pressure (which was a little bit high) and they send some vials of blood over to the lab for testing. By the time they were done you were completely exhausted. I sat down beside you on the gurney and within seconds you were starting to doze off on my shoulder. But the doctor said it was best if you stayed awake, worried you might have a severe concussion, possibly swelling in the brain. I was terrified, but I didn't want to upset you. You were so scared confused already, I didn't want to make it worse, I had to stay strong for you. You were taken for a CT scan and an MRI, but no swelling or bleeding showed. They still wanted to keep you there for observation, though.

As soon as you were settled in a hospital room you were asleep, unaware of all of the SVU detectives worried about you in the waiting room. I quickly went and explained to them what was happening, but I didn't have much to tell. No one knew what was going on with you.

I talked to the doctor Hugues, the neurologist appointed to you. I told him you'd had problems with confusion and memory loss long before that day's head injury. He frowned at me and I couldn't help but stare at my hand with guilt, I should have taken you to the doctor earlier, damn it, I should have listened to my gut. I'd known something was wrong all along, how could I not have realized?

Doctor Hugues started asking questions about you:

"Does she have trouble remembering appointments or important dates and events?"

I nodded "A week ago she forgot my birthday, that's never happened before."

"Does she have problems with planning and problem solving? Like making up a checkbook, keeping track of bills, doing paperwork?"

"She tried to hide it, but yes, she does." I sighed.

"Does she have trouble completing familiar tasks at home or work?"

"Yes."

"Has she had any changes in mood or personality lately?"

"Yes, her moods seem to be all over the place."

"Has she lost or misplaced any items lately? Has she had any trouble finding the right words while speaking? Has she had any confusion with time or place?"

The questions went on and on. The more of his questions I answered, the clearer it became to me what was going on, but I refused to admit it. It couldn't be, you were too young, you had always been very healthy, it was impossible.

But I was right, I had been right all along. Something was seriously wrong.

When you woke up the next morning the doctor Hugues sat down with us in your room. I felt numb as he started to explain. I must have zoned out completely because I don't remember a word of what he sat except for those three innocent sounding little words. The three little words which changed our lives forever: "Early onset Alzheimer's"

The disease crashed into our lives like a wrecking ball. How could this happen? You were young, you were intelligent, you were on the road to become Manhattan's next District Attorney.

I don't think you really understood what was happening immediately. It wasn't until you were home with me later that week when things started to sink in. Suddenly you just broke down in sobs.

"Oh my God, I'm sorry, Casey, I'm so sorry," You cried, "I ruined everything. I'm so sorry."

I held you in my arms and you cried for hours. You felt so guilty, like all of this was your fault. You were terrified that I would stop loving you. I spend the entire night trying to convince you weren't to blame for anything and nothing would make me stop loving you, ever. And no matter what would happen in the future, we would deal with it together.

After being home for a week you wanted to go back to work, but Michael Cutter, no matter how sympathetic he was towards you, he couldn't allow you back in the courtroom anymore, he couldn't take the risk. You were devastated, your work was your life, it was your pride, your sense of self. To let go of that was to lose a very important part of yourself and since you were losing so much already you didn't know how to deal with that. You tried to continue on desk duty and paperwork, but they soon proved to be too difficult and you were forced into retirement at only 41 years old.

You grew very distant over the next couple of months, you were withdrawn, gone somewhere inside your mind where I couldn't reach you. You were gone for longer periods of time. I tried to cherish every single moment I had with you, because I knew those moments were limited.

I hope you still remember some of those moments, even though you don't talk about it. It wasn't all sadness and drama, the past years. I lived for those lucid moments when you were just you. I took you out for dinner as much as we could, you loved that little Italian place. We took long walks in the park. We went to the Bronx zoo. Sometimes you'd wake up in the middle of the night completely lucid and awake and convinced me to go stargazing on the roof of our building. You took me on a wine tasting course, that was one thing I never expected to learn.

You still wanted to make love. I did too, but I was terrified. I never knew when you would crawl back into that shell you disappeared in. What if it happened while we were having sex? I couldn't do that to you. You couldn't consent while you were "gone", which meant that making love would instantly turn into rape. I could never do that to you, ever!

But one hot humid night, while stargazing, you convinced me. You said I had your consent no matter what. I was reluctant at first, but it had been so long, it quickly turned into hot desperate sex. But then later that night it turned into the sweetest gentlest lovemaking we'd ever had. And you were there with me the entire night.

You got accepted in some clinical trials, you have to take two little green pills with every meal. You forget to take them most of the time, but I'm here to remind you. I don't know if they are working, they don't seem to. Maybe you're not even on the real drug, you might just be on the placebo. That thought makes me angry, if they created a drug that may help, why not give it to everyone? Just see if it works? What do they need a control group for anyway? I asked doctor Hugues once if he knew if you were actually on the real drug, but he said he didn't.

So here you are sitting, right next to me on the couch, staring blankly at something invisible to me. Are you still in there, somewhere? What does the place look like where you have gone? Is it so much better there that you don't want to come back to me? Or are you trying to come back? Are you still in there, somewhere, fighting? Struggling against that prison that your own body has become?

I gently put my hand on your shoulder expecting no reaction, but you turn around and look at me, your beautiful blue eyes clear with recognition.

"Casey?" You whisper.

Tears start to burn in my eyes. "Yes, honey, it's me," I whisper back, "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

I pull you into a tight hug, my tears staining your shirt. "I'm right here," I repeat.

You pull back and look me in the eyes.

"What's wrong baby?" you ask while your track your thumb down the trails of my tears.

"Nothing." I choke out, "Nothing's wrong, Alex, I just love you so much. You know that, right?"

"Yes," You whisper and pull me into your arms, "and I love you too, with all my heart."

I sob in your embrace, your hand drawing circles on my back.

"It's okay, Casey," you whisper, "It's all okay,"

After a couple of minutes I have finally calmed down and I'm lying back against your warm body, your arms protectively around me.

"Alex?"

"Yes."

"Even if you remember nothing else, please, just remember that I'll never stop loving you."

You don't answer, but you lean down and look me in the eyes. You're all here right now. You lean down and pull me into the sweetest most passionate kiss we've ever had.

I don't know if you'll remember this later, I hope you will. But this is how I want to remember us: in our home, in each other's arms, kissing passionately.

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**I hope you guys like the story and didn't find it too depressing.**

**Also, please know that I am no expert on the medical stuff, I have based this solely on research and someone I know who has early onset alzheimer's. If I got it all wrong, I'm sorry. **

**Please tell me what you think.**


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